


There's a Place Downtown

by FishEyenoMiko



Series: Dominion [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crime Fighting, Crime Scenes, Crimes & Criminals, Drug Use, F/M, First Time, Hate Crimes, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Kilts, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Public Sex, Sex Club, Sexist Language, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:57:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishEyenoMiko/pseuds/FishEyenoMiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock go a club to catch a killer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's a Place Downtown

By the third body, the police knew they were dealing with a serial killer. The bodies were all found with the words, "I will save them" carved on their chests. Some of them had taser marks; those who'd tried to fight back had been viciously subdued. Despite all this, it wasn't until the fifth victim that Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson began investigating. But this time, it was John, not Sherlock, who got them involved.

The fifth victim was a young man named Martin "Marty" Morstan, a former Army captain who John had served with in Afghanistan. When John saw the article on Marty's death in the paper, he'd high-tailed it down to New Scotland Yard to ask for as much information as they would give him. What he discovered was this: All the victims had hand-stamps from trendy clubs, many of which skirted various vice laws. None of the victims were regulars, though; and in fact, the killer seemed to specifically be targeting people who were new to the club scene, some perhaps even going to a club for the first time. John felt his blood boil when he looked at a picture of Marty's body.

The police had told John and Sherlock that they were working as hard as they could to find the killer. They'd thanked them and left, a plan already forming between them.

Sherlock had studied the killer's pattern. He never got a victim from the same club twice, so he had to extrapolate from the previous locations where he would strike next. Marty and the victim before him had been in clubs called The Blue Carbuncle and The Devil's Foot, respectively. Between their locations and their reputations, Sherlock suspected the next club the killer would visit was a place called The Red Circle. They would go to said club, John as a newcomer--which wasn’t an act, he hadn't been to a club in so long, he might as well be a newbie--and Sherlock as a more experienced club-goer. John would lure the killer into attacking him, and between he and Sherlock, they would catch the killer and hand him over to the police. 

 

John felt absolutely ridiculous. He liked wearing denim every now and then, but the tight black jeans he had on weren't his style at all. He was also wearing a lab coat and tie with no shirt, which just felt terribly wrong. Still, if he had wanted to fit in at the club at all, it was necessary. Sighing, he headed down to hail a taxi.

 

John stared in shock as he entered the club. Many of the denizens were barely wearing anything, people were openly doing drugs, and in some of the darker corners of the room, couples (and threesomes, and...) were engaging in various sex acts. There was a bar and a dance floor, and while some people were actually dancing, most of them seemed more like they were dry-humping each other.

Taking a breath, John headed to the bar and sat down. He ordered a Painkiller and tried to be nonchalant as he looked around for Sherlock. Glancing over, he spotted him on the dance floor. Sherlock was dancing with a tall young woman. Sherlock was topless; the woman he was with might as well have been. Sherlock's hands were groping the woman's mini-shirted arse, while she had her hands under his kilt. After they danced for a few minutes, he turned her around and held her against him. One of his hands began to fondle her barely-covered breasts, and the other traveled downward, sliding under her skirt. John found himself unable to look away as Sherlock masturbated the woman. Only after she'd come, and slumped back against Sherlock, sweaty and sated, did John look away. He finished off his drink and ordered another.

John knew that Sherlock could slip in and out of different personas as easily as others slipped in and out of their clothes, and that the lascivious man out on the dance floor wasn't Sherlock's true self. He also knew that Sherlock was doing what he felt was necessary to find their prey. And most importantly, he knew that the chances of him and Sherlock having anything but a platonic relationship was slim to none. Still, seeing Sherlock being so... sexual with someone else just felt like the final nail in the coffin.

 

Looking around, John noted that he wasn't the only one new to club life. There were a few others, both male and female, who looked as awkward and uncomfortable as he was. Sherlock suspected that their quarry was either a club regular or able to blend in. Really, John wasn't sure what to look for but he hoped he'd know it when he saw it.

Finally, after observing for nearly half an hour, he did see it: One man, who did indeed seem to be a club regular, was approaching the more awkward, tentative club-goers. John did his best to keep his eyes on the man, but lost him a few times in the wild, libertine crowd. He would have loved to take the initiative with him, but he knew that that would just make the man suspicious. No, John was going to have to wait until the man came up to him. 

 

John sighed with annoyance; he'd lost the man yet again. He considered getting up and casually walking around, hoping to find him, when he heard a familiar voice:

"Hey, sexy."

John turned, and found Sherlock looking down at him with a smirk. Aside from the kilt, the only thing Sherlock was wearing was a black leather wristband, a pair of boots, and several necklaces, most of which hung nearly to his waist. 

"Hi."

Sherlock's smirk grew larger. He leaned over John, putting his lips practically right on John's ear.

"What's say you and I find a nice dark corner and have a good, rough fuck?"

John's brain shorted out for a second, but he finally managed to sputter, "I... uh... no... no thanks."

Sherlock laughed. "'No thanks'? You're cute! You're like a big puppy! Let's dance."

With that, Sherlock grabbed John's arm and dragged him to the dance floor. John tried to put his hands on Sherlock, but the detective turned John around, pressing against his back. He put his hands on John's hips and began moving in a wild, sensuous rhythm. John tried to match him, but his efforts were derailed as soon as Sherlock's hands moved from his hips; one up to touch his bare chest, and the other down between his legs, stroking him obscenely. John bit his lip, trying to remind himself that this was just Sherlock playing a role. He wasn't touching John out of desire for him, but because it was what a man like the man Sherlock was pretending to be would do. It also occurred to John that _he_ had a role to play to; a man who was new to the club, and didn’t know the man who was currently molesting him. As much as he hated it, he had to at least pretend to protest.

"Hey... uh..."

"Relax, puppy," Sherlock purred, "I'm just havin' a bit of fun..." Nevertheless, he moved his hands back to John's hips. John actually found himself disappointed by this.

 

They finished dancing and went back to the bar. John abandoned his previous drink--Sherlock had warned him ahead of time against drinking anything given to him by anyone but the bartender, or any drink he'd left unattended--and ordered another.

The bartender nodded at Sherlock. "And you?"

"I'll have a Screaming Orgasm."

John was very glad he hasn’t gotten his drink yet. No one looked good doing a spit-take.

As soon as their drinks arrived, Sherlock reached into his sporran and pulled out a little bag of pills. John looked at him suspiciously.

"Don’t worry, puppy, these will just help you relax a little." Smirking, he leaned in, slipping one of the pills into John's drink. "Trust me, you could use it."

John made a face, but took a drink anyway. He trusted Sherlock not to give him anything truly dangerous, and openly accepting a pill from a "stranger" would make their target think he either stupidly naïve or easily corruptible.

Smiling, Sherlock took a swig of his drink, as well. He leaned toward John, whispering, "You've seen him?"

"Yeah," John whispered back. "He's been hitting on all the newcomers."

Sherlock nodded, then finished off his drink. Looking over at the dance floor, he told John, "Finish your drink, puppy; I wanna dance some more."

Following Sherlock's line of sight, John saw their target out on the dance floor with a tentative young woman, though he was looking around over her head, barely paying attention to her.

John downed his drink and let Sherlock lead him back out to the dance floor. John didn’t even bother trying to dance normally; he immediately turned and leaned back against Sherlock. He also began to sag, acting as if Sherlock's drug was affecting him. Sherlock held his hips again, though he eventually slid one hand across John's chest, holding him against him as they danced.

Soon, John noticed that Sherlock was maneuvering them over to their suspect. The man looked at them for a moment, then ditched the girl in his arms. She seemed grateful, walking off the dance floor and heading to the bar. Then he stalked towards them. Looking them up and down for a second, he stepped forward, putting his hands on John's hips; one of his hands rested over Sherlock's. He pressed against John, who moaned as he was sandwiched between the two men; both of him where considerably taller than him. Still playing up being impaired, he let his head fall back on Sherlock's shoulder, and loosely rested his hands on the other man's arms as he grinded into him. 

The three of them danced together for a moment, then the man glared over John's shoulder at Sherlock. After a second, Sherlock let go of John, pushing him towards the other man. Then he turned and left the dance floor. This was part of the plan, too. By leaving John--one might even say abandoning him--after being responsible for him being so vulnerable, it made him look callous. Therefore, when the man took John out of the club, he would never suspect Sherlock would follow them.

After only a few moments, the man was leading him towards the door.

"What's say we get out here?" the man said. John nodded weakly, letting the man guide him towards the door.

They headed down the sidewalk for awhile, John leaning on the man for support. The man led him down an alley, pushing him against the wall. 

"You're a bad boy, aren't you? Dancing with men you don't know, taking drugs... you really should be more careful."

"I was just having fun..." John slurred, giving a drunken laugh.

The man let out a disgusted growl and pulled John further down the alley, dragging him behind a trash bin. He pulled out his knife and brandished it at John.

"The kind of fun you were looking for leads to sickness and death. But don't worry, I'll save you from that."

"So that's why you kill people who are new to clubs," said John, still remember to slur his words and talk slowly. "You think you're... saving them from some sort of sinful life?"

"Better I kill them now and save their souls, than let them live to wallow in sin and wickedness and travel down the road to hell."

"Oh?" John retorted. "And who made you the authority on what's sinful and wicked?"

The man pushed the knife to John's throat. "Shut up, queer."

Deciding now was the time, John grabbed the man's wrist. He twisted his arm around, then spun him around, slamming him against the wall. The man's free hand fumbled in his jacket pocket. John reached down to stop him, but this divided his attention, and the man pushed back against him. His greater bulk succeeded in knocking John back, though he was able to stop himself from falling completely. The man turned, pulling the taser out of his pocket. He lunged at John, who moved out of the way just in time. The man turned again, but John grabbed his arm before the taser could make contact. John struggled with the man, trying to either get the taser out of his hand, or use it on him. As they grappled, John saw Sherlock appear behind the other man. He grabbed him in a choke-hold, making the man reluctantly let go of his taser to try to get Sherlock off him. John turned the taser around and aimed for the man's neck, zapping him with his own taser. He let out a scream and slumped on Sherlock's arms. 

"Take off your belt," said Sherlock. 

John got his meaning immediately, taking off his belt and wrapping it around the man's arms.

Sherlock looked at John with concern. "All right?"

"Fine. Thanks."

Sherlock nodded. Then he pulled out his mobile phone and called 999.

Meanwhile, the man struggled to get out of John's grasp.

"Let go of me, faggot!"

John shoved him against the wall. "Let me make a few things clear, scumbag: One of the people you killed was a friend of mine. And the police will take about... what, five minutes?"

Sherlock did the calculations. "Seven or eight, actually." 

John turned back to the killer. "I'm a doctor; I know all sorts of fun things about the human body. If you don’t shut your fat fucking mouth, I will make the next seven or eight minutes the worst seven or eight minutes of your life."

The man was leery; John could tell he was trying to figure out of John was serious or not; or perhaps if it was even worth pushing his luck. Finally, he slumped against the wall.

 

Sirens signaled the arrival of the police. They walked down the alley to find Sherlock, John, and John's prisoner.

"O'Hara," said Sherlock. 

The cop regarded Sherlock with amusement. "Going to a Halloween party, Sherlock?"

Sherlock just looked O'Hara up and down, then said, "The man my friend has up against that wall the West End serial killer."

"He's lying!" the man yelled. "Help me! They're crazy!"

O'Hara walked up to the man. "Well, you're half right," she said.

Cautiously untying the man, John stepped back and reached into his lab coat pocket. "I'm not lying," he said, pulling out a mini-cassette player. He rewound it some, then pressed play.

_think you're... saving them from some sort of sinful life?"_

_"Better I kill them now and save their souls, than_

"Well, that seems pretty clear," said O'Hara. She turned to the other officers. "Take him."

The police officers handcuffed the man and began to drag him off. "Let me go! Let me go! Fuckers!" He glared at O'Hara as he was dragged past her. "I'll get you for this, you fucking bitch!"

"Oh, yeah, you just keep that up; that really makes me think you're innocent."

O'Hara shook her head. She looked at John. "That tape is evidence," she said, holding her hand out.

"You can have the whole thing," said John dropping the player into her hand.

"I'd like a statement from you, as well."

"Can I wait until tomorrow?" John asked. "I'd like to have time to... well, look presentable."

"I dunno, I think you look pretty hot," she said, smiling.

John gaped. 

"See you tomorrow," she said with a wink and a smile.

 

"That was a bad idea," Sherlock asked as soon as they were alone.

"Care to clarify?"

"You threatened him. That won’t get over well with..." Then he stopped, turning to John with a smile. "You turned the tape off first, didn’t you?"

"Of course. I'm not an idiot."

Sherlock made a face.

"Yes, yes, fine... I'm not _that_ much of an idiot."

Sherlock smiled. "Fair enough."

"By the way, what _did_ you put in my drink?"

Sherlock smiled. "A vitamin c."

"Ah... so, I could get drunk, but at least I won’t get scurvy."

Sherlock laughed.

 

John sighed as he walked into the flat; he was glad to be home, and out of the public eye. Sherlock entered after him. 

"O'Hara's right you know," Sherlock said, "that's a good look for you."

"Yeah... I'm not planning on ever dressing like this again."

"Pity..."

John turned to Sherlock, giving him a puzzled look. Sherlock's expression was equally curious; John could tell he was trying to decide something.

"Sherlock? What's up?"

Without a word, Sherlock walked over to the door, closing it. Then he walked up to John. He gave him a quick up and down, then took hold of his arm, pulling him across the room. They ended up over at the sitting room table. Sherlock turned John around, then bent him over the table.

"Sh-Sherlock..."

Sherlock pressed against him from behind, his hands reaching around John's waist. 

"Oh... oh, God!" John cried as Sherlock undid his belt and pulled his trousers down. John hadn't bothered with underwear, so once Sherlock had his jeans down around his knees, all he had to do was pull up the back of John's lab coat. John saw a bit of movement behind him, then a long, thin, well-lubed finger slid into him. Sherlock's finger moved around inside him, loosening him, and occasionally stroking his prostate. John moaned, his fingers digging into the table. His legs were already getting weak, and his cock was nearly fully erect. 

John felt Sherlock pull his finger out of arse. He expected Sherlock to either resume fingering him or start fucking him. When neither happened right away, he looked back over his shoulder. Sherlock smiled at him, then lifted his kilt, clenching the front hem in his teeth. John smiled back, then turned back around. He grabbed the edges of the table tighter, taking a deep breath and trying to relax.

"Oh, Christ," John gasped as Sherlock thrust into him. As Sherlock went in even deeper, John felt his kilt fall, draping over John's back. John let out a whimper as he bent even lower over the table. He couldn’t believe this was happening. And while he certainly never pictured them consummating their relationship like this, he was willing to take it.

Sherlock began fucking him in earnest, deep but slow; he was taking his time. He leaned over John, sighing into his ear.

"John," he whispered, his soft voice contrasting with the roughness of their sex. "My dear John..."

John moaned again. He was painfully hard, and knew from experience that as wonderful as it was, he couldn't get off on anal sex alone.

"Sher... Sherlock... I... I need..."

"What do you need, puppy?"

John was finding it hard to think, much less talk, but managed to say, "A... a hand..."

"Ah..."

Carefully, Sherlock moved one of his hands from John's hip, sliding it around John's waist. John let out a deep, thankful moan as Sherlock wrapped his hand around his cock and gave it a few gentle but firm strokes. 

"Oh... oh, fuck!" John's legs nearly gave way as he orgasmed, coming on the table.

Sherlock's hand moved back to John's hip, holding and steadying him as he thrust deep. John felt Sherlock come inside him, barely making a sound as he did so. Sherlock's hands moved up, his arms wrapping around John's chest. John didn't trust himself to let go of the table, though, so he just relaxed into Sherlock's embrace. They stayed like that for a moment; Sherlock gently nuzzling John's neck, and John just enjoying attention.

"Can I let go of you now?" Sherlock finally asked.

After thinking it over a moment, John shook his head. True, he no longer felt like his legs were going to give out underneath him, but he wasn't sure he was ready for Sherlock to release him yet.

Sherlock let out a laugh. "Let me re-phrase: Will you fall over if I let go of you?"

Sighing, John shook his head. Sherlock slowly removed his arms from John's chest, and stepped back away from him. John wiggled his legs a bit, his trousers falling to his ankles. He stepped out of them, but did up a few of the lower buttons on his coat. Then he turned around to look at Sherlock. He was smiling--a true, genuine smile, not a put-on--and his curly dark hair was disheveled. He was panting slightly, and his bare chest was covered with sweat; a few of his multiple necklaces were clinging to his skin. 

"God, you look amazing," John whispered.

"As do you," Sherlock replied with a smile. He reached out, flicking at a lock of John's hair. "'Well fucked' is a good look for you." He leaned forward, but John leaned away. Sherlock looked puzzled. "Problem?"

"Is that what this was? A... what did you call it? A good, rough fuck?"

"Oooh, I see..." Sherlock leaned in again. "John, I didn’t have sex with you as part of a role, or to play with your head. For that matter, it wasn't just sex for me, I assure you." 

He took ahold of John's tie, pulling him close and giving him a slow, gentle kiss. After a moment's hesitation, John kissed back, grabbing Sherlock's forearms.

John cleared his throat nervously. "So... what now?"

Sherlock smiled. "Why don't we spend the rest of the night right here having a party of our own?"

**Author's Note:**

> I picked the Painkiller for John cuz it went with the whole "doctor" thing.  
> [Painkiller Recipe](http://www.drinksmixer.com/drink7868.html).
> 
> I picked the Screaming Orgasm for Sherlock pretty much because of its sexual name.  
> [Screaming Orgasm Recipe](http://www.drinksmixer.com/drink1817.html).
> 
> A [sporran](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sporran) is a pouch worn with a kilt, serving as a place to put things in lieu of pockets.


End file.
